Bob's Your Uncle
by wutaistars
Summary: In a future controlled by werewolves, an ex-nun and a hitman try to recover what magic wizards once controlled. If they could only find Newt Scamander's old teaching notes. [Crack!fic, OneShot, formerly called "It's One o' Clock: Do You Know Where Your Assassins Are?" but it was too darn long.]


**Gibbouston, London**

Ten in the evening, Wednesday. It's far from being Saturday, but no longer Monday. It's the one day in the week that people don't really know what they want. Right now, a man named Reid Whistler sat in his favorite watering hole, hunched over the one drink he will order all night. He doesn't know why he's here. All he knows is, he's waiting for a job, and she's late.

* * *

**Reid**

Stay away from Dalomin, they told him. Nuns are insane, but ex-nuns like her are worse. She's wanted in seven cities for a ledger of subpoenas as thick as his thumb is long. Reid Whistler didn't fancy himself the suicidal type, but he needed coin—for rent, for food, for bloody breathing in the big city. This is why he was sitting in Firesilver, nursing a regular malt and gazing at his watch, waiting for the Felonious Monk. He usually has a strong desire to harm late people.

Something else about this woman was bothering him, though. He couldn't tell what it was, but it was there, like an itch he couldn't scratch. If he was a lesser man, he would have told himself that Vera Dalomin scared him. An hour later, when she swept into Firesilver and told him what she wanted to do, he knew for sure that he was scared.

* * *

**Vera**

She'd rather not deal with hit men. Messy, ill-educated, driven by money, and most of them hit on her. But this guy, he had magic. Literally—his ancestors may have even gone to the old academy. (Whistler, Weasley, it's quite similar.) But it wasn't the name that convinced her; it was his peculiarity. Because Reid Whistler defies the notion that flaming red hair is bad luck. Because he's made scores of narrow escapes, escapes that could only be aided by magic.

And she needed all the magic she could get.

* * *

**torn from **_**The Balance of Power**_** by **_**Matilda Vane-Dalomin, p. 25**_

When the Werebeings held little political power in the magical community, humans with magic claimed the top rung in the social order. They established bureaucracy (i.e. the Ministry of Magic) and academic institutions (Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and the like). These mostly catered to wizarding needs, often shutting out other sentient beings. Although reformists like Albus Dumbledore supported laws catering to other beings, magical rights remained largely skewed in favor of humans. This was true until the Uprising of 2055. It made werewolf resistance leader Rina Swipes the de facto Prime Minister, and rendered null the International Statute of Secrecy.

* * *

**highlighted on Circular No. 233-a, Restrictions on Citizens**

All non-Werebeings must be indoors after 1:00 AM. Non-compliance is punishable by public execution.

Anatoly Ridgesnout

Interior Minister

* * *

**an hour away from Firesilver**

A couple of vaguely sinister figures slouched about on an obscure side street in a forgettable part of what was once a middling district in Old London. One was shaped like a lamppost; the other looked like a fire hydrant. The lamppost was wearing a beret, which annoyed the hydrant very much. She wanted to knock the hat off his head. Actually, she wanted to knock him over for fun, but Vera needed this particular lamppost to stay alive. They have to reach the transporter before the midnight patrol begins. Behind her, the lamppost was crunching leaves like he was strolling around a park in the middle of June. He was even whistling.

_Breathe, Vera,_ she told herself. _Look for the Key._

She cleared her throat, and Reid stopped in his tracks. Without a word, she dropped on all fours, urging him to do the same. He looked incredulous, but she gave him a stare that could've melted plastic. He sank onto his knees and palms, and crawled. She glared at him, as if to say, _look for it_, and it took him all he had to not retort that he wasn't in the Lost and Found business.

_Maybe this is a prank show. Or one of my cousins set me up. Damn this woman_, Reid thought as they scuttled on the smashed concrete. _I'm ruining my one good pair of trousers._

Vera shot up so fast he was afraid she got electrocuted, but she swooped down again and turned to him. She was clutching a tarnished tin can and grinning like she won in Bags of Swag. _The can, it's that Key thing she was yammering about_. Before he could react, she clamped her hand on his wrist, and they disappeared from the street.

* * *

**a letter in Vera's back pocket**

_Vera, Dear,_

_Do you ever think we should stop doing this?_

_Never mind, forget I asked. I'd crumple this, throw it away and start writing again, if I had more to use. But you can only get so much wax paper in prison. They're treating me like I'm Hannibal Lecter here. Crayons and all. Have you watched _The Silence of the Lambs?

_We will get our birthright back. I know it. This last contact—if he doesn't know where the school is, nobody does. He says he'll leave a tin can on Knightsbridge. That's a Key, according to him, and keeping the can a secret has been his life's mission._

_My getting imprisoned is a tiny hiccup in our plans. If you find Scamander's Scroll, I'd gladly die in here._

_Feed Mr. Tubs—you know he gets cranky when he doesn't get kibble._

_Lycoris_

_PS. This is the last message Franklin's passing along for me. Don't worry, I'll find another way we can talk. For now, take care of yourself._

* * *

**somewhere in Scotland**

Reid's mobile beeped. He tried to move without hurling; quite a feat, as he'd just traveled who knows how many miles. He's not even going to process how he did that; not yet at least. _What did they tell you, boy? They told you not to do business with her, _he thought.

There wasn't a building in sight; there were trees all around, but not a single concrete structure. Overhead, the moon was round and white. He squinted at the screen.

1 message from Kurt (12:45 mn)

U better be nsyd mate. Cant cover 4 u tonite.

He tried to text back but he was out of coverage. Typical. Vera'd already started walking, so he stuffed his phone in his pocket and followed her. She was muttering about some building, possibly the same one she was talking about earlier. Why a wanted criminal is interested in some fanciful old school is beyond him. It dawned on him that she probably knows more than she's letting on.

Her curly mop of short brown hair bobbed in and out of sight, disappearing between the trees. Reid swore that the second he gets the chance, he'll kill her.

* * *

**Vera**

If he was worth half his retainer's fees, Reid should be plotting her murder by now, Vera thought. Still, she walked on—the school should be somewhere here, and once they find it, the bounty hunter can decide to fight her if he wants to.

Something cold seeped through her jeans. She realized that she was wading into water, and beyond the water—

* * *

**Reid**

Holy flying granny knickers, she was right. It _is _a castle. Ruined, with what looks like just half the towers standing, and a caved in main hall, but a castle. He didn't know whether to pass out or yell at her. The trip from London to here is a hefty enough curveball, and now this?

Well. He better do as she says while he's here, and find that manuscript.

* * *

**Vera**

Scamander's scroll is not so much a seminal text in Magizoology as it is the scribblings of a young professor predisposed towards daydreaming, but it's all they had. Before being a nature explorer, Newt taught at the school. If they knew where the school was, Vera thought, they'd have a chance at finding texts hidden by Scamander during his time. Breaking the Statute might have weakened their powers, but magic remained. More so in places like the school.

They walked around the lake, taking twice as long as they had if they swam, but she didn't want to get the papers in her pockets wet. When they reached the hole where a front door probably stood, she heard Reid exhale. She understood completely; even in disrepair, the school was overwhelming.

Vera looked around, picked a tower, and headed for it. This will be a peachy job.

* * *

**in the enth tower that night**

She had to hand it to him. It's like he lived here—he knew where most things were, and found secret letters, diaries, even a photo or two. For a while, they amused themselves with the travails of the students who once studied and lived there; break-ups, making up, making out, complaining about people who should be reading on their ship instead of the library, it was all in the papers.

Vera was irritated with Reid, though. He seems to have forgotten what he was here for, and was chuckling at Ms. Can't Stand the Library Boy and her thoughts. She was so annoyed she almost forgot to scream when she saw a ghost grinning and floating towards them.

* * *

**the butchered ghost**

"Oh, hello—sorry for startling you—whoops, your friend looks like he'd be out for a while, sorry. Anyway, I'm Nick! Nicholas, actually, but call me Nick. You seem to be temporarily mute out of shock. It's alright, I get that a lot. Again, I apologize. I didn't mean to startle you, it's just been so long since I had people around. Actual people!

"I heard about the Statute being broken, and I thought I'd never see a single soul as long as I'm here. You can imagine how that's like for a ghost, eh? Hahaha—erm. Wow, you're real quiet. Why do I feel like I know you from somewhere?

"Oh, hello there—oh, no, no, don't faint again, I'm sorry. My name's _Nick_, actually. Not sorry. I mean, I am sorry for scaring you, but I was just so excited, no one comes here anymore. No one magical, anyway. You are magical, or you wouldn't be able to see this place, you'd see ruins. Well, these are ruins now I suppose, but back in the day, you'd see different ruins if you weren't magical. And you saw the castle, which means you're as much of a wizard as I am. Or was.

"If you're looking for a Slytherin's relics, the Slytherin common room was in the dungeon. The Hufflepuffs were near the kitchens; just look for torn paintings of fruit. Ravenclaws—well, their common room was the first to get burned, none of it's left. Also, I'm the only ghost here, everyone else has moved on.

"If you need anything else, you know where to find me! Nice meeting you!"

* * *

**a dungeon, possibly the Slytherin common room**

_Wow, these people are a happy bunch,_ Reid thought. _Green and black marble, what a cheerful combination_. He sifted through broken glass with his feet, and Vera disappeared into one of the rooms. Reid thought of what the ghost said earlier. Him, magical? The only magic he's done in his life is to eat day-old pastel without getting sick. How could the ghost say he was a wizard? Aren't those people gone?

Vera shouted for him to get to where she was, and he followed her voice. It was coming from inside one of the rooms, and she was starting to sound very excited. He stepped inside a room and saw her holding a thin book with yellowing pages. A name was embossed on the spine, and the first page read—_Hold Me_. Reid didn't like teens, he liked teenaged girls less, and he couldn't stand teenaged girl angst. He took a deep breath before reading.

* * *

**from Hold Me, the diary of Lucretia Black**

_15 August_

(unreadable) _is madness, I know it. But ever since you visited us in our London home, Professor Scamander, I had eyes for no one but you. I care not if you work with father, or if you're good friends with mother. I was so happy you dedicated your children's book to me, but I wish you could do something else. I would run away with you, professor. I really would._

_17 August_

_Why won't you call on me in class? I'm attentive and take down all your notes. I answer your tests perfectly. I even turn in an extra foot of parchment every time you give an assignment. Do you hate me?_

_20 August 19_

_I know why. It's because I'm a Slytherin, isn't it? I hate you! I hate seeing you turn back into the Teacher's Lounge when I—_

* * *

**Reid**

He closed the diary and threw it at Vera, exclaiming how he won't read any more of it than necessary. Running out of the room, he shouted for Nick, who appeared a split second after. He startled Reid, who stumbled backwards and knocked Vera to the ground. Nick looked at them helplessly.

* * *

**Nearly Headless Nick**

"Hullo. What's up? It's okay, you can talk to me. If you still can't talk, you can write it down, now there's a champ. Alright. Let me see that. Oh, the teacher's lounge? Down the hall, last door.

…you're welcome!"

* * *

**Vera**

Before she was a professional cleaner, she was a nun. Before being a nun, she was with a temping agency. Before that, she was a teacher. The teacher's lounge in this school is no different from others. She found Scamander's cabinet and sifted through the books and vials until she saw it. The scroll. She couldn't take her eyes off it. Everything he didn't include in his books were there. She started reading, ignoring her companion until she heard the unmistakable click of a locked and loaded pistol.

* * *

**Reid**

That scroll's probably worth a million pounds on the black market. He's gonna get rich. He didn't want to kill the girl (not really), but he might if he had to. He started offering her an olive branch when she spit at him. That does it—he lunged at her, fully prepared to whack her with the gun, when something snarled at them from the entrance.

* * *

**Vera**

If she had the luxury of time, she'd reflect on how exciting the whole situation was. She never had this much excitement as an office temp. But she didn't, so it barely sunk into her that there was a werewolf on the doorway of the teacher's lounge. She forgot about the midnight patrols; of course they'd send people to the old school. Too much residual magic.

The werewolf came in and bolted the door behind him. Vera felt about ready to evaporate on the spot. Years of street combat kicked in; she threw the scroll at Reid, screaming for him to read it, and she charged toward the werewolf, who looked eager for fresh meat.

She prayed that Reid's luck extended to whomever he considered as travelling with him.

* * *

**Reid**

This Scamander guy loved writing as much as he loved animals, apparently. He scanned the parchment, trying to ignore the sounds of fists hitting flesh and fur, or the groans of pain. He had to find something here, or they're both dead. And then, his lips curled into a smile. He knew exactly what to do now. He stood up.

* * *

**from the Glasgow Moon, Vol. XVII Issue 14, 20 October 2071**

"Missing Police Officer Busted"

by Gloria Lehane

The four-day manhunt for Pack Private Maxwell Jones has reached a grim end when policemen discovered his body in the ruins in front of the Black Lake. Jones' last radio was to call for backup as he attempted to patrol the ruins. Policemen found him with a smile on his face, a small consolation for such a tragedy. Jones' remains will be cremated by the family.

* * *

**from Scamander's Scroll**

While a brew exists that can subdue Werewolves, it is hard to make in a pinch. I discovered, though, that jokes—humor, in general—tear them up really quick. And I mean literally; I joked with a werewolf once, and his head exploded.

Something in them cannot understand humor. While I bemoan the existence of a host of people who do not know how a joke works, or how it feels to laugh, now I have leverage.

Good luck, werewolves. Woof, woof.

* * *

**Vera**

She was once a first form teacher. Then she worked temping jobs. And then she had that brilliant idea of becoming a nun, which trained her to clean things really well. Now she has another thing to add to her list of occupations, past and present: vigilante resistance member.

It's going to be so much fun.

* * *

**Written for the Points and Prompts competition. (using prompts 1-12)**

**Love it? Hate it? Tell me why-please leave a review! :)**


End file.
